


The Hole

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autism, Autistic Ben, Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester Friendship, Canon Autistic Character, Canon Gay Character, Construction Worker Dean, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Gay Castiel, Kid Claire, M/M, Single Parent Castiel, Single Parent Dean, Single Parents, Supportive Benny, Veteran Castiel, Writer Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5547119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is a writer, not a builder.</p><p>Sure, he builds the foundation on which his characters grow on, the stories they tell, the adventures they embark on, but that required months of mental labor, not physical. </p><p>No, physical labor required left-brain thinking—or any side of the brain, for that matter. Not someone who’s going to dredge up the long-forgotten pathway to China on the side of the road with a big silver spoon and leave it there for weeks on end.</p><p>Or the one where Cas is peeved and a hot construction worker with a short temper does him no favours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hole

 

Cas is a writer, not a builder.

Sure, he builds the foundation on which his characters grow on, the stories they tell, the adventures they embark on, but that required months of mental labor, not physical.

No, physical labor required left-brain thinking—or _any_ side of the brain, for that matter. Not someone who’s going to dredge up the long-forgotten pathway to China on the side of the road with a big silver spoon and leave it there for weeks on end.

Cas already notified the local authorities, who agree that “it is indeed a long delay for a project, but everything is underway”. Meanwhile, kids Claire’s age are playing Trenches in it, practically screaming lawsuit at the construction company. He’d fill the hole up himself had he the extra meat on his leg. Iraq was not good to him.

Instead of griping over a change that’ll never come, however, he spends his energy taking care of his goddaughter, Claire. At only eight ( _and a half,_ she protests), Claire has seen things from nightmares. Her father, Cas’s twin brother, Jimmy Novak, hung himself on a telephone wire while Claire was in the other room practicing for her band recital.

Claire’s mom had a psychotic breakdown, rendering her unfit to be a parent, and thereby left barely-there Castiel to have full custody. Claire was less than impressed by her estranged uncle, but the therapist says that’s normal; that once she settles into a routine again she’ll learn how to be a “normal kid”.

Castiel Novak is a gay uncle with a gimp leg and a tendency toward people he makes up with the power of his mind—he’s as far away from normal as he’s going to get. But for Claire, he’ll try.

Still doesn’t change his personal vendetta against the hole.

“Castiel, what’s for dinner tonight?” Claire chimes from the backseat. Today, she opted to wear her long strawberry blonde hair a parted haystack over her slouching shoulders to hide her mouth, which was pulled into a tight frown. She does this enough for Cas to know it’s a test.

“It’s eight in the morning, sweetie, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“It better not be broccoli,” she mumbles. “Or spinach. Or those things with the green pedals—”

Cas laughs as he comes to a stop, approaching traffic, “None of that gross healthy stuff, got it.”

Claire turns to look out the window. Cas does the same, only instead of being greeted by, say, _nature_ , it’s the ever-present hole in the ground. Standing next to it is a man in an orange uniform. He’s tall, like tequila on the rocks, packing enough bulk around the rim of his sweaty glass to knock out a lightweight. From the side, the morning sun hits his crew-cut brown hair, turning it a rich caramel Cas could sink his teeth into.

One thing he overlooks is his piercing green eyes… until they catch him looking his way. “Hey!” he barks, voice like kids scraping rocks against the sidewalk, “You got a problem, buddy?” Cas whips his head around. “Yeah, you.”

As usual, Cas speaks before his turn: “As a matter-of-fact I do. That hole is going to cost you a lawsuit.”

“What, that stupid thing?” he says, making an unimpressed _ppfft_ sound with his large lips. “That ain’t gonna hurt anybody… unless you believe in the boogie man.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

That’s when the guy plots dangerously close to his car. “Deadly.”

“Guess I’ll just have a word with your manager,” Cas tests, his eyes flickering to his nametag, “Dean.”

Dean chuckles again, “Bobby? Forget it. There ain’t any sun shining up his ass.”

“Do you have kids, Dean?” Dean throws his head back incredulously. _Ah, so the Grinch does have a heart._ “Unless you want your little demon spawn getting trapped inside that thing, I suggest you change your attitude.”

Behind him, Claire giggles. Dean’s eyes remain fixed on Cas before he releases his death-grip on the car.

“Have a nice day, sir.”

 _Not as nice of a day that toilet paper is having hanging out of your pants,_ Cas thinks as he drives off.

**

The next morning, there’s a thin plank of wood covering the hole—and enough cars in front of Cas to say something about it.

Dean is already in front of him before he can say asshole. “Well, well, look who it is, as I live and breathe.”

“Castiel,” he replies through gritted teeth. “What is that?”

Dean’s head snaps to the wreckage behind him. “I believe that’s a hole.”

“No _shit,_ Sherlock,” he bites, hating himself for cursing in front of Claire. It’s bad enough she overhears them from the kids at school with their iPads and instant everything, let alone her uncle. “The plank of wood.”

Dean raises his eyebrows with a scoff, “You’re not serious, are you?”

“Deadly.”

“We put it there because of you—I put it there because _you said—_ ”

“ _I_ said,” Cas starts, measuring his breaths before he commits drive-by murder, “that hole needs to be fixed.”

“It is!” Dean protests, uncannily emulating a child Claire’s age.

“Is that right? Your definition of fixing something is putting a tarp over it? You must be a real gentleman with the ladies,” he retorts bitterly as Claire giggles in the backseat. Honestly, he’s got a handle on this parenting thing. “So, what’s the deal? Does your kid have no concept of lifting something off the ground?”

Dean’s so close Cas can almost taste his tangy breath hitting the side of his face. “My kid wouldn’t come within ten feet of that hole.”

“Yeah, because he’s somehow _so_ special, right? Because _Dean’s_ kid isn’t like the others, no—”

“He’s autistic!” he yells over the stall of Cas’s engine. The other workers, particularly a burly one with a mutton chop the size of Canada, turn in their direction. “He has severe autism. He can’t run or play with the other kids, so yeah, I guess you could say he gets called special a lot.”

Dean hangs his head in the open summer hair as Cas closes his eyes. All that’s between them now, for once, is complete and utter silence.

“I’ll get on it,” Dean says quietly so his friends won’t hear. “I’ll fix the hole. Wouldn’t want your kid to fall and break her arm or something.”

Cas drives Claire to school that day without the car radio on.

**

Cas will be the first to admit he hasn’t done much praying since his father walked out on him ten years ago, but his heavenly father must _really_ have it out for his agnostic ass because Dean saunters up to his window the next day. “It’s a little late for you to be driving, in’t it?” he asks between obnoxious chews. Cas wishes he chose another day to trade tobacco for Trident. Between aftershave and the gum, he smells annoyingly good.

“Who are you, my mom?” Cas retorts, then sighs impatiently. “Claire forgot her lunch.”

“Two kids think alike.”

Cas scoffs, “You’re not serious.” It’s bad enough he has to use his lunch hour to drive to Claire’s school, and now he’s stuck at a stop sign with Mr. Munchies.

“Deadly, I’m afraid,” he replies, unamused.

He casts a glance between Dean, who turned to bark something at another worker, to the brown paper bag on his console. Before he can question his motives, Cas thrusts the sack out the window. “Take it,” he mumbles.

Dean snaps his head to the cold contents hitting his lightly mottled wrist and repeats the same actions. Baffled, he says, “What’s this for?” Then: “I mean, are you sure—?”

“Claire hates PB&J’s anyway,” he replies, “I’d be better off getting a four piece special at McDonalds.”

Dean’s jaw drops disbelievingly. “Even with the crusts cut off?”

 _“Especially_ with the crusts cut off. She thinks it’s ‘childish’.” He’s pretty sure his arm his going to fall asleep at the rate he’s been holding it out. “Hopefully you don’t mind pink cupcakes,” Cas remarks timorously.

“I don’t have anything against binary cupcakes, no,” Dean replies, a forest fire spreading to his cheeks as he clutches the bag almost uncertainly. Then a smile graces his grimy face that’s far from intolerable, and Cas finds himself in pursuit of it.

He doesn’t recall how long his car’s been stalling until a blue SUV rudely plucks him from his musings. “Oh, I uh…” He glances behind him to the football field of traffic. “I should get back to work.”

“Shit, yeah, uh, thanks for the um—”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Cas smirks. “Tomorrow,” he says. This time it’s a promise.

**

Cas gets the call late afternoon in the midst of a cliffhanger.

“Mr. Novak, it seems your niece has left the school premises. Don’t worry; this is a controlled situation—”

The indolent nasally voice of the secretary is swallowed by the sound of the dial tone as Cas reaches for his keys on his cluttered work desk. This isn’t Claire’s first time dodging the ‘learning police’, but it’s the first time Castiel’s thoughts spring to the worst possible scenario—

He drives a mile to the now barren road until he sees the dreaded hole in his front window. Red and blue flashing lights are like blinding headlights beating his face. A dozen cops surround the crevice. One tall, skinny brunette bays orders to the guys piling out of the big red fire truck perpendicular to Cas’s Continental. He can barely pick out words like “ _move!”_ and “ _stat!”_ because standing on the hill above the hole as another cop wraps the chaotic scene with yellow ribbon is Dean.

Cas runs up to him, frantic. “What’s going on?” Dean doesn’t answer, just buries his hands in his face. “Dean!”

“They’re in there,” he says, the sound muffled by his slender fingers.

“Who’s in there?” He snaps his head back to see one lanky firefighter snaking into the hole by a harness. “Dean, please, who’s—”

“Ben,” says a startling Cajun voice. Cas casts a glance at the man coming into view behind them. Cas thinks he’s offering his name until he notes he’s not wearing a badge or a helmet. He drinks in his mountain of facial hair and thickset shoulders and realizes it’s Canadian Chop. “His son, Ben, he’s trapped in the hole.”

Cas shakes his head. “Wait, no, he said _they—_ ”

“Your daughter, she’s down there with him.”

Castiel’s heart does sprints. “How?! I mean, Claire, sure, but Ben—”

“She strong-armed him,” Dean cuts in with a sharp whisper, lifting his head so his eyes are planted dead-on Cas.

“What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ she strong-armed him,” growls Dean, face red with rage. “Ben’s always talking about a girl named Claire at his school—the only thing he can damn well say is her name, loud and clear, Claire Claire Claire.” Dean emphasizes her name with jazz hands. “I should’ve known my son had a crush on your _demon spawn.”_

Cas stares at him, gobsmacked. “Excuse me, who was the one who said he was going to fix the damn hole?”

“I was getting to it! I’m not the one with the harebrained kid!”

“She’s all I’ve got!” Cas spits before he realizes the only thing he’s spitting is tears. His knees buckle beneath him, sending him into the muddy grass. “ _She’s all I’ve got,”_ he whimpers, burying his face in his hands when he feels a hesitant one on his shoulder and broken syllables beat against the tuff of brown hair near his ear:

“Look, Cas: Me too, alright?” Cas turns to look at Dean, and despite the heavy glaze coating his eyes, he can count the freckles dancing around his nose. A few of them crinkle from the waver of his mouth as he recounts what he says. “I’m barely holding it together, man. Let’s just… not argue, okay?”

Cas sniffles as he nods his head. Canadian Chop clears his throat and lays a tentative hand on Dean’s shoulder as well. “C’mon, Chief, let’s get outta the cops’ hair before they tear us a new one.”

Dean’s warm hand flies behind Cas. “I’m outta their way, Benny; it’s _our_ kids for Christ—”

“Dean,” Cas gravels through a blocked sinus, “let’s not argue, okay?”

Dean stares at Cas for a long moment before he bits his lip with a small nod. Cas lends out his hands and hauls the both of them up. They stand facing each other, hand-in-hand, hot dog style for a while until Dean laughs. “What?” Cas asks, baffled by the unsolicited reaction. Dean just shakes his head.

“Nothing, it’s just—I really hate gender binary foods.”

Cas laughs too, albeit shakily, “I’ll be sure to buy generic white frosting when I get home.”

They’re just about to step away from the hole when a firefighter yells “All clear!” and two familiar kids are pulled out by the skin of the lanky firefighter’s suit.

Claire is the first one to jump out of his arms and into the arms of Cas like a monkey released from the zoo. “Uncle Cas!” she squeals, burying her face in Cas’s stale trenchcoat. Cas closes his eyes, holding her back as tight as he can. Aside from the grime decorating her body and the obvious concussion she’s suffering calling Cas by her uncle, she’s not injured.

“Da-da!” a little boy’s voice coos. Cas turns his head to the sight of Ben, arms flailing in the air before Dean pulls him into his arms, emerald eyes shining with glee. He hears him breathe, “ _Oh my God,”_ repeatedly into his son’s tiny AC/DC shirt.

Dean doesn’t have long to relish in the moment before Ben’s eye catches Benny. “Bee!!” he screeches as the smiling man lifts him into his beefy arms. Dean stares blankly at his now empty ones with a disbelieving chuckle. He approaches Cas and the blonde leech wrapped around his leg.

He shrugs. “What can I say? Benny steals all the good guys.”

“Not all of them,” says Cas shyly.

Dean glances down at Claire to hide the blush crowding his cheeks. “So, I hear you hate PB&Js.” Claire nods enthusiastically and resumes digging a face-shaped hole into Cas’s slacks. Dean grins up at Cas. “Well, we’ll just have to fix that.”

“ _After_ the hole.”

“After the hole,” Dean agrees.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
